


The Companions

by Amethyst97Skye



Series: The Northern Star of Skyrim [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Goodbyes, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: Aster takes Aela up on her invitation to join the Companions, and she discovers what it's like to be part of a family.





	1. Goodbye (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Befriending my mentor, who was destined to die, was far from a priority... but how could I refused his last wish?

When Aela wrote and informed me of Kodlak’s summons, near a year had passed since Skjor’s death, and near a season since I last stepped inside Jorrvaskr. I had every intention of remaining close to the Harbinger, to learn anything and everything he chose to teach and impart upon me. But my heart was so heavy, my spirit so small and my soul so fragile that befriending my mentor, who was destined to die, was far from a priority. Time had moved on without me, and now I regretted both following, and ignoring, my instincts.

“What troubles you?”

His concern melted what little was left of my heart, and my mind scrambled for a worthy answer. I had not one to my name, whatever that may be.

Instead, I said: “I had a dream.”

It was not a lie. I knew what was coming; there was nothing I could do to stop it, to save him, and those facts had plagued my mind every moment I dared to let my thoughts wander.

Kodlak was looking at me with something, I thought, akin to wonder. He remained silent, his eyes urging me to continue, and I relented. First, I told him of the Silver Hand I would find outside Jorrvaskr upon my return;  Aela and Torvar would greet me, covered in blood, brandishing their swords like common bandits. When I stopped, Kodlak poured me a measure of mead, the taste of betrayal bittersweet on my tongue and I knew I could never drink Honningbrew Mead again. Maven, at least, will be pleased.

When I found a fragment of my voice, I told him of the bodies I would find inside Jorrvaskr. I did not dare look up, not until after I choked on my tears and accepted a desperate hug; his heavy Skyforge Steel armour made it rather uncomfortable, and all the more memorable. I would not heal these bruises.

He removed my left glove, and his right gauntlet, before stretching his hand out across the table to encompass mine, squeezing it as one might do to reassure a child. I appreciated him not telling me “ _It was just a dream, it will be alright._ ” Despite knowing about his own, I had not fully believed he would take me seriously. He understood and, for a time, neither of us spoke.

Finally, I declared I did not want to leave.

“I could stay, wait until after they’ve retaliated -”

I may as well have been talking to a Word Wall. No, scratch that, they have a tendency to talk back. Although Kodlak did not shoot me down, his eyes spoke volumes; they seemed brighter, lighter, younger even, and I knew he had not simply accepted my “dream” but taken it as an indisputable fact. He was not yet dead, but he was at peace with the knowledge he would die a warrior’s death. I shook my head, saying without words that I did not understand.

But I did.

Time and time again, I had heard how Nords valued dying in combat. If the Silver Hand did not kill him, the Rot would, and that was a way no warrior should go.

“It seems my time has come,” he declared. “Your certainty suggests that your presence would do nothing to deter them. It might, I dare say, embolden them. Aela let vengeance rule her heart, and they will do the same.”

Kodlak waited, but I could not deny that he spoke the truth. When I did not respond, he leaned in closer and, on instinct, I copied, our hands still entwined, until he cupped mine in both of his and pressed a whiskery kiss to the scarred flesh beneath. He could not know what that meant to me, how close it came to blurring the lines between our worlds. I watched, helpless, as one man walked to his death, and now I would leave another to the same fate.

How many Men - how many Mer - have cursed the Daedric Lords and lived to tell the tale...?

_Hircine, Azura, Hermaeus Mora -_

“If this is to be my last chance to speak with you, I would ask..."

Hagravens or no, how could I refuse his last wish?

"What would you ask me?" _Father_.


	2. Out of the Flames...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know where to find the answers you seek," Elorund declared, "even to the questions you have yet to ask.”

It was as he feared. Aster had returned, the shard of Wuuthrad in hand, but her face – her eyes – lacked the knowledge that Eorlund sought to bestow upon her. Lydia was waiting at the steps and, after briefly embracing the few that hung about outside the hall, they made their way up to Dragonsreach. Eorlund could guess at what Aster would request of the Jarl, but he knew the man would refuse. That, at least, would strengthen the her resolve, but it would not be enough.

The Skyforge had never wanted for heat, but Eorlund let the coals burn as he collected the fragments of Wuuthrad and descended the stairs for the Underforge. He slid the stone aside effortlessly and stepped into the shadows, the basin that had once held blood now aflame, but there was no warmth to be gathered from its presence. Six eyes turned upon him, and three hopeful faces fell into masks of anger, annoyance and confusion.

“Well, where is she?” Aela’s voice was strong, and it carried far, but Eorlund knew her chest heaved with the effort.

“Dragonsreach,” he replied, “to request her title be revoked.”

Vilkas swore. “The Jarl wouldn’t dare!” 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eorlund agreed, relieved to see the boy’s shoulders rise as the tension inside was released, imploding upon contact with the air. “He will persuade her to stay, but she will need more than his praise and promises. She needs yours.”

“She has mine,” Farkas assured, and Eorlund knew the boy spoke the truth.

They would all be boys and girls to him, children that – no matter how hard or how long they trained – would always remain children in his eyes. They were not blood, and he was not a Companion, but they were family all the same. Loosing Skjor had been painful, and Kodlak’s death had only ripped apart that which was only just beginning to heal; to lose Aster now would not just cripple him, not just the Circle, but the Companions as well, and all they stood for.

“And mine,” Aela seconded. “I haven’t been much of a sister to her, as of late, but I would see that changed, our bond re-forged. It has been… too long since we last fought together.”

As Farkas nodded, Vilkas’ heavy sigh betrayed his exhaustion.

“If she would listen to me… If we were to induct her into the Companions again, I would speak for her.” Vilkas’ eyes never left the flames.

“I would have Kodlak speak to you.”

Again, six eyes fell upon him, like starved wolves upon an injured elk.

“I asked Aster to retrieve the final piece of Wuuthrad because she, more than any of us, needs to hear Kodlak. He kept a journal in the same desk he kept the fragment, the one closest to his door.” Eorlund shook his head. It was as if he were standing _in_ the Skyforge, attempting to mould metal by hand. “Whether she seeks to honour his memory, or fears what she would find inside, Kodlak asked me that I would see his final words read. That duty now falls to you. Save your sister.” Eorlund did not miss the way Vilkas’ eyes clenched, or how his gauntleted hands trembled. “You know where to find the answers you seek, even to the questions you have yet to ask.”


	3. Last Words of the Harbinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talos guard you, my daughter.

_Kodlak Whitemane kept a journal, the rough, worn pages methodically bound and reverently wrapped in the expertly tanned hide of the rare Red Sabre Cat. It is found, tucked neatly, inside the small draw of his bedside table, the one closest to the door. This is the final entry._

_\---_

I have only ever seen Vilkas and Farkas cry, and only as children. To see Aster in tears broke my heart. Had she not explained her hysteria, I would have had words with Aela. These are, however, best left unsaid, but I fear forgetting them would sap what little strength Aster has summoned on my behalf.

When she told me she had dreamed, it was all I could do to contain my excitement. Skjor would laugh, but I felt like a child, so nervous, so excited, so full of hope.

Alas, whereas mine have been almost reassuring in nature, Aster’s was nothing short of a nightmare.

“The Silver Hand will attack Jorrvaskr,” she said, “and you will die.”

When she began speaking as if I was already dead, that my death was unavoidable, I prepared a request for her. One I knew she could not, would not, ignore.

But she spoke first, all but begging me to stay, to help, to protect.

I have no doubt that, had I permitted her to remain, she would have given her life for mine. But Aster has not yet seen her twentieth winter, and her youth gives her a strength, a ferocity, that I have lacked for decades. The evidence is there, in her hands scarred unlike any warrior I have deemed worthy of honour.

I did not tell her I would rather die in battle than wait for the Rot to take me, but I could tell she knew, and she gave me this gift. Words cannot express. I asked for her word and she gave it, but what stole my breath, and brought tears to my own eyes, was how she bid me goodbye.

“I have been to Sovngarde,” she said, “and I promised Ysgramor I would not fail you. Give him my regards, would you?”

I could not find the words to reply, but she accepted my silent nod with a smile I do not think I have seen since she first started training with Vilkas. Would that boy listen to reason, other than his own...

I take comfort in the fact that I will see her again, if only fleetingly, in Ysgramor’s Tomb. I do not know how, but she seemed to know this as well.

If after evaluating her dreams with the sound, sharp mind I know her to possess, she takes them to heart, giving them a voice all of their own, then I can do nothing less.

It is decided: in front of the Circle - no, as we dine tonight, warriors and whelps one and all - I will name her as my successor. Even though they say nothing, I know they have long since feared losing their little sister, and while her life, her destiny, has her astray, she has returned to us all the stronger for surpassing the greatest of trials.

Talos guard you, my daughter.


End file.
